


Hero - Alternate Ending

by thethingthathasnoname



Series: Hero [2]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, Protective Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethingthathasnoname/pseuds/thethingthathasnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Ending to my previous graymichael fic Hero. Less emotional, more funny and cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero - Alternate Ending

**Author's Note:**

> The first bit's the same as the last one but about half way through where they've just gotten away from the bad guys is where it changes. Sorry for all the fluff and cheese but I just can't help myself! Enjoy!

The night was cold, dark and empty. Like Frank Grayson’s soul. Must be why he liked this time of evening so much. He walked alone through the backstreets, and alone was exactly the way he liked things; no expectations, no demands, no worries. He could just stroll along, terrifying the shit out of a couple of pigeons here and there, sometimes literally, and not have to bother about anything. This was his domain, his town, his safe house. The backstreets of Watford, Hertfordshire… hmm… perhaps not much to brag about. But still.

He was walking up the main street, hollow as a ghost town, listening to the sound of his own curling breaths and heaving footsteps. It was completely silent, with only the buzz of the streetlamps and the whisper of rats and flies to keep him company. Silence. Ah. But as Frank sauntered past Zizzi’s, the notorious hotspot of late-night action here in Watford, he was disappointed by rude noises breaking his peace. The sounds of heavy boots on bin bags and pizza crusts crowded his ears and Frank sighed. Bastards, whoever they were; maybe a couple of goofs trying to get it on in the alley, perhaps a pair of thieves breaking in for stale pasta, possibly your average good-for-nothing thugs loitering about the dingy dregs of this town. Frank didn’t really care and intended to get on with his way. He was walking on past, minding his own business, when he heard more crunching and snapping from the alley. He quickened his pace, wanting to leave the noise-makers to it. But then he heard voices.

“Come on, pretty boy.” Came a snarling growl.

Frank estimated the owner was, say, a middle aged man, muscled, thoroughly tattooed.

“What’s the matter? Charming, attractive men like us should be exactly your type.”

Make that _two_ balding males. Frank sighed again and walked on. Nothing to concern himself with. But then came the reply.

“I prefer my men un- _creepy_ , thank you.”

And Frank only knew one person who spoke with that much, what could only be called, gay sass. He stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, honey.” A voice hissed. “Don’t be like that.”

Frank could feel his blood run cold. This wasn’t happening.

“Let’s have a little fun, shall we, darlin’? Why don’t we have a little fun?”

Frank hesitated.

“Urgh! Get OFF of me!”

That was it. Frank turned around and headed back towards the alley. As he turned the corner, the most horrific sight met his eyes.

Stephen Carmichael was being shoved up against the alley wall by two beefy, bulging men, exactly the type Frank had predicted. None of them were paying any attention to Frank right now, though that would soon change, as they seemed to have enough to do pushing Stephen’s shirt up his chest… revealing some incredibly chiselled abs. Frank almost blushed. God, it just had to be Carmichael didn’t it. The freaking pouf from Special K. He could just leave. He should just leave. He had no right, no reason, to be here. Other than the fact for some reason he felt… I dunno… something for freaking Carmichael. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him. It wasn’t like proper feelings or any of that crap, just something, you know… whatever. Frank shouldn’t be here; he wasn’t a hero or anything, just some kid bully. He had nothing here. He quietly started to step backwards. But froze again when one of the men continued.

Still sliding his smarmy hands all over Carmichael’s toned muscles, the biggest man continued “Shall we play a game?”

“Perfect, how about hide and seek… I’ll hide, you seek.” Stephen tried, but his eyes were too wide and his voice was too shaky.

“I’d find you in seconds, sweet-cheeks. I’m like a sniffer dog when it comes to locating SCUM.”

The man spat and emphasised his point by slamming Carmichael’s back against the wall before leaning in even closer.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘escaping from a flaming dumpster’.”

Stephen’s eyes grew wider and he took a sharp breath in. “After you.” Stephen swallowed.

“Ladies first.” was the reply.

And with a single nod, both men grabbed Stephen, sliding their hands all over him as they did so. One of them reached his fist back and punched him hard in the stomach. Stephen winced, but at least it wasn’t the face. Oh god, if they dared to touch his face, he might have a mental breakdown. Stephen that was, not Frank. Frank wouldn’t mind… much. Oh, come on. That guy’s face is beautiful… everybody thought so. Not just Frank. Whatever, man.

“Get off me!” Stephen screamed and Frank felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He had to do something. But he couldn’t. But he had to. Fuck. Fuck you, Carmichael for being so fucking… fuckable… What?

“Yes, gayboy, this is more like it. I like to see you mooove.”

“Come on, bitch, in you go.” They started lifting him into the dumpster, despite his struggles, and Frank saw one of them reach into their pocket for a lighter.

Oh, for FUCKS sakes. Dammit Carmichael. Fucking weak, Carmichael. Fucking gay, Carmichael. Fucking hot, sweet, funny, sexy, kind, mesmerising… unattractive, completely platonic Carmichael. FUCK YOU, Frank mentally shouted, before stepping out of the shadows.

“Alright, alright.” He drawled, quietly. “Lads, you’ve had your fun. Don’t you think it’s over now?”

All three heads snapped to face him; the two men looking confused and Stephen’s jaw practically dropping off his face.

“Frank?!” he exclaimed; half questioning, half disbelieving. Frank just shrugged awkwardly at him.

The men recovered quickly too, however, and the bigger took a step forward. “And who’s this? Are you his boyfriend?” he sniggered.

Frank had to focus hard not to blush.

“Come to join in, have you, love? Well, I’m afraid he’s taken tonight…” The second man jeered.

“Yes, I am his boyfriend, so what?” Frank spat, finding his voice, although unsure of what he was actually saying or why. “And don’t you ever call me ‘love’ again.”

Frank glared. He was really getting into this fight. It was like a red mist was clouding his vision and his brain. What was going on? Why did he care so much? Why the fuck did he care so much?? The men actually looked pretty worried.

“Or what?” one of them tried.

Frank looked him dead in the eyes. “I don’t think you even want to know.”

The man visibly gulped.

The other trained to maintain his bravado. “So you think you can take us, gayboy number 2. Come on then. What are you going to do? Dance us to death?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Frank retorted.

“What do you want to call it? Ballet? Or, sorry, contemporary??” they laughed, shakily.

“No… I like to call it punching you little gits in the face.” Frank replied, his voice low and straight. “So come on then, lads. Let’s dance.”

He cocked his head to one side, then the other, his neck clicking loudly.

“Come on, then.” The men tried to sound tough. Frank considered that they had never actually had any experience in fighting. He reckoned they always picked on weaker targets than themselves and appeared too scary to be confronted, the little cowards. He grinned. Perfect.

Frank lunged, fists up near his face, as though he was going to punch. Instead, he just slammed his feet on the ground making the dumpster shake. The men jumped. Stephen, who was still being held back by the men, was gaping.

“Let him go.” Frank said, advancing again.

“NO.”

Fine then.” Frank got right up in the bigger man’s face, spat once. Then he stepped back, dropped low, and swung a punch.

Bam. Clean. Straight into his stomach. Bam; another one to the ribs. Pow. One to the face. Then crash, bang, wallop and Big Guy 1 was cowering in the corner nursing a broken nose, a couple of snapped ribs and, possibly, a sprained ankle. Big Guy 2 was looking more hesitant now, although he was still holding on tightly on Stephen. The little wanker.

“We can do this the easy way…” Frank indicated Stephen. “Or the hard way.” Frank indicated his fists.

“Erm.” The man faltered. He glanced at his companion for advice, who merely growled, probably ashamed at being beaten up by a kid. “Come at…” he began, but never even got to finish.

Frank pounced on him, hammering ten solid punches to the stomach, chest and head. It took less than 10 seconds for him to join his friend.

“Just fucking take the little shit, it’s obvious you care about him so much.” The man conceded. “I hope you two have a fucking happy life together, you lesbians.”

And with that Frank grabbed Stephen and helped him out of there.

It soon became pretty clear that Stephen had taken some pretty bad blows before Frank had got there. How fucking dare they. They’d probably taken him by surprise, the wimps. No wonder he hadn’t used that amazing kick that Frank knew all too well. Remembered every single detail. Because it was such a fucking amazing kick. And nobody had ever tried anything like that before. That’s why. Nothing else.

They managed to hobble a few streets with Frank walking behind Stephen so as to fight the buggers off if they returned. They didn’t. But soon Stephen signalled that he needed to sit down and perched on a bollard. It had started to rain and was now incredibly cold so, without thinking, Frank handed Stephen his hoodie.

“Oh no, babes…” Stephen tried to protest but Frank cut him off.

“Just put it on.” He growled through gritted teeth, blushing, looking stubbornly up to the right.

“Well er thanks, babes. Or, er, not babes. For this.” He indicated the jumper. “And for that.” He indicated the direction they had just come from.

“It’s fine.” Frank replied, scowling.

The rain was getting heavier.

“Where do you live?” Frank asked suddenly.

“A few streets away. 5 minutes’ walk.”

“Can you walk?”

Stephen tried to get up but winced and sat back down again.

“Not really.” He blushed. He hated appearing weak.

“I could, er, carry you.” Frank mumbled. “If that’s ok.”

“Only, if it’s ok by you. You’ve done more than enough for me. Why did you do it anyway?” Stephen asked.

Frank just shrugged. “Just did. You complaining?”

“Oh no, like thankyou so much.” Stephen gushed and Frank just nodded. “But I just thought you hated me. I thought you were homophobic and stuff.”

“Why?”

“Er, you treat me like shit?”

“I treat everyone like shit.”

And for some reason, that was the best explanation of equality that Stephen had ever heard.

The rain was pouring now.

“Look, we need to get you home.” Frank stated. “You can’t walk. I can carry you.”

“Ok.” Stephen conceded.

Carefully, more gently than Stephen would have thought possibly, Frank slid his arms under Stephen’s knees and back. Stephen wrapped his arms loosely around Frank’s neck. They made such a funny couple; Stephen with his perfect brown skin and elegant poise matched with Frank’s pale complexion and stooping, hanging figure. Frank just prayed they didn’t bump into anyone he knew. The rumours would be terribly. But then again, he could stop them easy enough. The real problem was that he feared he would like them to be true... Again… what? Hmm…

Frank walked briskly down the roads as Stephen instructed, head bowed against the rain, not even seeming to feel Stephen’s weight. Frank was strong; Stephen could feel his muscles rippling under his thin t-shirt as he walked. Quickly, they came to Stephen’s house, both thoroughly soaked.

“So this is my stop.” Stephen informed Frank, almost sadly.

“Will you be alright from here?” Frank asked, sounding almost worried.

“Yeh. I’ll be fine. Thank you so much for everything. You’re like a proper gentleman, babes.” He paused, analysing Frank’s face, trying to judge whether he should say it or not. He shrugged and did so anyway. “You’re my hero.”

As expected, Frank blushed and looked at the floor. He muttered something that sounded like “Thanks” but nothing else.

“You’re different when you’re not in school. Nicer.” Stephen continued, gaining confidence from the fact that Frank had not run off. “I like you like this.” He glanced at Frank from under his lashes, and saw him blushing even more, confirming his suspicions.

The rain was still chucking down, but they felt isolated in their little bubble of streetlamp light. The artificial glow caught the falling rain drops, turning them into individual falling stars, making the world around them glow and glimmer and shine.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Stephen leant forward and pressed his lips against Frank’s. Frank froze up at first but then relaxed into it, tentatively kissing Stephen back. Then, all at once, it was like he finally found himself, because he grabbed hold of Stephen’s waist and pulled him flush against his body, all want and need and hunger. This was more like Frank Grayson, confident and desperate all at once. He slammed Stephen up against the wall of his house, devouring his mouth as he did so. But Stephen was not one to be outdone and so grabbed Frank’s head, his sharp fingernails curling into his short hair, trailing down his neck. He felt Frank groan. Success. Then he felt something under his fingertips; a slightly bumpy area of skin just behind Frank’s ear. His tattoo. He pulled Frank’s head back and slid his lips all the way to his tattoo where he sucked and bit feeling Frank’s breathing increase again. Suddenly, Stephen felt his body being forced back even more against the wall and Frank nudged his head out the way, attacking his neck with teeth and tongue and lip. Stephen moaned before catching himself and blushing. He felt Frank grin. Right then. Right. This was war. Using as much strength as he had, he spun the pair around and pushed Frank up against the wall. Aha. Sucker. Wasn’t expecting that, were you now? He planted a few more hickeys all the way up Frank’s neck, just so he wouldn’t be able to deny this in the morning, before getting to work on his lips again. Frank was clutching his waist and back in such a desperately angry way that made Stephen’s knees weak.

Eventually, they broke apart, heavily panting. There was silence for a second.

“So, you’re gay, huh?” Stephen asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I am.” Frank paused. “I just know I like you.”

“Well, that’s good. Because I like you too. My hero.”

 


End file.
